D&G versus The Nuddy-Pants

The Young Lady just posted about the ironclad principle of looking positively and satisfyingly FLAWLESS upon the first time seeing that omnipresent Ex Who Did You Dirty. I myself have walked down this road many a time, with mixed results. I once ran into Tex wearing sweaty gym clothes. Before I went into the gym, mind. So I didn't even have the pleasure of looking flushed and radiant, but instead, um, bloated. But on the other side of things, the infamous night when the Runner should have, by all accounts, been trying to put the moves on me but didn't, due to what can only be attributed to him being a pansy**, I decided to raise the stakes by wearing my troublemaking outfit-complete with black leather boots and a lingerie-style top. Yes, his eyes appropriately popped out of their sockets, but for some reason he remained annoyingly chivalrous. The fucker.

**This situation aside, though, he really is a nice boy. Well, when he wants to be.

Anyway, I have yet to completely master the art of looking jaw-droppingly sexy in order to exact revenge. My clothes can demand attention, or at least an appreciative once-over, when I put my mind to it. The first time I hung out with Homeboy I wore a miniskirt that had obviously ulterior motives. Motown Lover saw it and said, "Well-played. Good job," because, well, I have great legs. Let's not be churlish, here. So yes, when I remember to, I can play the game. But most of my clothes are casual; 95% of the time, I'm wearing jeans. At least 50% of my wardrobe is of the denim persuasion. Most of the time I rely on sleeveless tops, tousled hair, and shameless flirting to get the job done, because mission will probably not be accomplished with a t-shirt, torn jeans and flip-flops alone.

I have a point somewhere...oh yes. Because I've been flirted with and ignored by guys** while wearing both sweats and cute sundresses, I've come to the conclusion that clothes can only do so much when it comes to dating-related situations. I should know. I used to be the girl who went clubbing in plain cotton t-shirts and jeans (looking back, though, I don't quite know what the hell I was thinking) and still had a fun-ass time. It's that knowledge that lets me be just as comfortable in shorts and a tank top as I am in a dress and heels. If I were to ever actually wear a dress with heels to something other than a fancy event or special occasion, that is.

**Now that I think about it, the first time I met Tex I had beastly allergies, my inaugural meeting with Science Guy had me wearing totally unsexy, cold-weather gear, and the last time I ran into the Runner, I had on, you guessed it, sweatpants. Universe, if you're listening, that's a little unfair.

Again with the rambling. I do love the idea of looking drop-dead gorgeous in the face of adversity or ex-boyfriends, it's just a formula that I haven't figured out yet. If you want to get technical with it, I hold much more store in things like perfume, soft skin, or delightfully mussed hair. I have a theory (again, for dating-type situations, not necessarily in everyday life): you wear hot clothes to get attention to meet somebody and eventually get naked with them. So why not instead spend money and effort looking good NAKED? Or nearly naked! Clothes are just the wrapping paper, it's the gift INSIDE that counts, people!

LOL. Is everyone still present and accounted for? Good. Let us battle on.

My brilliant hypothesis aside, I have to say that recently I have paid more attention to what I wear; despite my theory, I can't just walk around starkers, you know. Plus I had the internship and job and had to portray some semblance of sophisticosity. And with that, I must admit that if I ever had to confront an ne'er-do-well ex, I wouldn't mind doing it in something like this:



I LOVE the simplicity of a stunning little black dress.



I couldn't find the designer of J-Hud's dress anywhere, but Halle's and Mandy's is Dolce and Gabbana. I refused to use a picture of a model wearing this dress, 'cause I couldn't find one with enough curves to rock the dress the way it was meant to be rocked. And damn that Halle Berry: she was pregnant when this picture was taken! If I had the means, motive, and opportunity (not to mention the guts) to do so, I'd wear this dress everywhere. I'd be "the girl in the glasses who wears that little black D&G to, like, the dentist."

Note: you may be wondering why I'm still awake, blathering on about life's minutiae. Firstly, if you've been paying attention AT ALL you know that I stay up too late for my own good. Also because when I took a break from packing I never started up again, and as a result I can't quite locate my bed. So here we are.